


Deserved

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
Genre: Angst, Conversations, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MayThe4th Treat, Nightmares, Post-Battle of Yavin, Self Confidence Issues, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 00:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14508690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: “Do you think you're not brave?”“I ran away. I pulled out of the trench while Luke and Biggs were still there.”“That's not what I asked. You flew against theDeath Star, Wedge. The most powerful weapon the galaxy has ever seen, a planet killer. And you went up against it in a tiny little fighter without even hesitating. You think that wasn't brave?”





	Deserved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yunmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/gifts).



“Col?”

He barely hears the voice as he comes swimming up out of a deep sleep, blinking in the dark room and trying to figure out what's going on.

“Col. Please.”

Wedge. Of course. The fellow pilot who has shared his bed more nights than not since the battle over Yavin. Then the tone of his voice filters into Col's consciousness: soft, shaky. He swears inwardly and turns, reaching for Wedge in the darkness. “What's wrong?”

“Nightmare,” Wedge answers quietly, and though Col can't see him, he doesn't need light to know the strained look on his face, the way he squeezes brown eyes closed in an attempt to hide his distress. “I couldn't fall back asleep, and you said...”

“I said you could wake me up whenever you needed me,” Col repeats, putting all the gentleness he can into his voice. It's not a natural place for him, but so often it's what Wedge needs. The fallout of that battle, the devastating amount of losses, has seemed to hit him harder than anyone else. Col wishes he could scream and kick and punch Wedge's grief and PTSD until he's happy and whole again, but that's not something he can do. Instead, his questing fingers find Wedge's cheek, stroke softly for a moment before continuing into his hair. “It's all right.”

He hears Wedge take a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I'm still sorry. You need your sleep, too, but I just...I didn't want to be alone.”

“You're not alone, Wedge,” Col promises. “Lights, low,” he commands the room's computer, and then he's looking at Wedge blinking big, wet eyes at him, tears still on his cheeks.

Col's stomach jolts to see them, and he moves to thumb them away. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Wedge's gaze slides from his. “It was nothing special. I was just back in the battle, in the air, in the trench, watching people die. Hearing them." He shudders, and his voice goes even quieter. “It was more of a memory than anything, I guess.”

Col nods, still cupping his cheek. It's far from the first nightmare Wedge has had in his bed, and he knows it won't be the last. He doesn't mind - hell, he's had more than a few of his own in his time, though thankfully not of this. “You did what you had to do up there. You did everything you could.” Col swallows, throat suddenly thick as memories of their lost squadmates assail him. “It was never your job to save them all.”

“I know that,” Wedge murmurs, looking away again. “But I can't stop thinking maybe if I'd flown better or shot straighter or gone back sooner-”

“You trying to go back at all was suicide,” Col reminds him, and he tries not to think how very true that statement may be. “You did the very best you could, Wedge. I know you would gladly have given your live to save any one of the others.”

“ _You_ do,” Wedge says, a touch of bitterness entering his voice. “Some people-”

Col shakes his head vehemently, cutting off that train of thought. “It doesn't matter what they. You know what's true.”

Wedge looks as if he's about to argue, then changes his mind. Col thinks it's probably much more to do with not wanting to argue than the words finally sinking in after many repetitions.

He doesn't press the point now, instead goes for, “Try to go back to sleep, okay? We have a few hours yet.”

Wedge sighs, rolling over onto his back and taking a good chunk of the covers with him. “That's not gonna happen now. I'm wide awake.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Then there's that ceremony to look forward to.”

Col winces. Medals are being awarded to the survivors of the Battle of Yavin, though due to limited resources only a few have been struck and passed out so far – at a grandiose gathering of the entire base honoring Han Solo, Chewbacca, and Luke Skywalker the day after the victory. A smaller ceremony is scheduled for today to recognize the only other two Rebels survivors of the engagement – Y-wing pilot Evaan Verlaine and Wedge.

Wedge doesn't want to go. He'd made that clear to Col (and anyone else who would listen) from the start. Col can understand that, but at the same time he thinks it's a good idea.

“You deserve it,” he says not for the first time. “That fact that you came back at all-”

“Stow it,” Wedge says shortly, pushing himself out of bed. He picks clothes off the floor and roughly pulls them on. “I'm going to the gym.” A moment later, the door is hissing closed behind him.

Col lays back for a moment, sighing heavily, then drags himself after him.

 

When Col catches up, Wedge is already on a treadmill and up to running speed. He looks over, clenches his teeth as Col takes a place next to him, then faces forward again. “You didn't have to check up on me,” he mutters.

Col shrugs as he starts his machine. “I said you weren't alone, didn't I?” He doesn't miss from the corner of his eye Wedge glancing over again, his look softening.

“What's your speed?” Col asks casually. “I'll race you.”

 

By the time they've worked up a sweat and cooled down again, Wedge has calmed, the attempt to work off his anxious energy entirely effective. The two of them shower, dress, and head down to breakfast.

“So,” Col says as they find seats in the mess. “Plans for this afternoon? Besides sulking after the ceremony?”

Wedge's lips twitch toward a smile, and Col cheers internally that the teasing found it's mark. It doesn't always; he wishes he were more a stranger to the way Wedge's face looks when he hurts him unintentionally.

“I was thinking of polishing my S-foils. Hasn't been done in awhile.”

“I can help, if you want.”

“Sure.”

Col smiles back, takes a bite of his bland oatmeal. It tastes better with Wedge across from him and in a good mood again.

They eat in silence for awhile, each in their own thoughts. Then, suddenly, Col sees Wedge stiffen. He looks up, about to ask what's wrong when he catches the drift of a conversation from the other end of the table.

“-pulled out and left Darklighter and Skywalker for dead. I don't see why he deserves recognition for that.”

“Punishment, morelike. Is it any wonder he survived when he ran away? Skywalker saved the entire Alliance, and Verlaine more than made us proud up there. Hello, Solo isn't even one of us, and-”

“Hey!” Col says loudly, pleased when the other two pilots start and whirl to face him. “How about you guys shut up until you actually know what you're talking about?”

“Col...” Wedge mutters, ducking his head, but Col ignores him.

“What do you have to say about it?” the big blond, the first one who'd spoken, says snidely. His eyes rake over Wedge, and he snorts. “Standing up for your little boyfriend? Face it, he's a loser.”

“He's as good as a murderer,” his friend adds, staring right at Wedge. “And if you keep sticking up for him, his reputation is going to pass right on to you, _Fake Wedge_.”

“That's it.” Col shoots to his feet, deftly dodging as Wedge tries to catch his arm. “Say that to my face!”

“Col, don't!” Wedge insists. “It's not worth it!”

The other two pilots are on their feet now, too, balled fists ready to fight. Everyone else in the mess is staring.

“Please, Col,” Wedge mutters, staring up at him plaintively. “Before a superior officer shows up. If you get in trouble, you might miss the ceremony and I – I need you there,” he finishes, barely audible.

“Better do what he says,” blondie taunts. “Wouldn't want to abandon him and give him a taste of his own medicine.”

Col grits his teeth, looking from Wedge's anxious face to the taunting expressions of the harassers. Willing his temper back down with extreme difficulty, he gives it one little vent. His hands shoot out, each clenching one man's collar. “You're gonna leave him alone from now on,” Col growls, pressing his face close to blondie's, then his friend's. “And if I hear otherwise, you'll have to deal with me.”

Blondie's hands thump against his chest, knocking him back, and Col scrambles for a second to maintain his balance while the two of them laugh. “Good threat, Fake Wedge,” blondie says, unbothered. “We'll see you around.”

Col grinds his teeth as they leave together, chuckling, a thought to follow them half forming in his mind before a hand on his arm disperses it.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Wedge sighs, tugging him back down to his seat. “It'll just be worse next time.”

Col's teeth grind. “They have no right to treat you like that. You have to stand up to them, Wedge.”

“Not everyone likes fighting with fists like you do,” Wedge says, something struggling to be a smile on his face before it drops just as quickly. He looks down, stirring his oatmeal listlessly. “And they weren't wrong, not really.”

Col sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “They were. You didn't abandon anyone, Wedge. I watched that battle. You followed Skywalker's orders. You were more a danger staying in that trench, and you know it.”

Wedge clenches his teeth, refuses to meet Col's eyes. “I'm not hungry anymore,” he mutters, and scoops up his tray and stands.

“Wedge-”

“Leave it,” Wedge says flatly, and then he's gone again.

 

Col doesn't see him again before the ceremony. He doesn't show up at either of their rooms. Comms go unanswered. Col is worried, but he tries to tell himself Wedge needs his space. Stalking him, pressing him, will just make him feel worse.

So he makes himself go to the ceremony, hoping Wedge will meet him there. Whatever's happened between them, he doesn't want Wedge to go through this alone. He knows how much it's going to hurt him, being reward for something he still feels so bad about, and Col wants to support him through that no matter what.

The gathering is small and informal. The higher-ups had listened to that much from their two honorees, at least. It's just a semicircle of pilots – so much smaller than it would have been a few weeks ago – in the biggest of the base's hangers, Princess Leia Organa and a couple of wing commanders at their head. Wedge and Verlaine are already there as well, looking far too somber for two people about to receive accolades.

Col takes his place at the back of the crowd, trying to catch Wedge's eye. He knows when Wedge sees him, recognizes the relief that relaxes his face even though he doesn't smile.

A few more people file in, and then the ceremony starts. Words are spoken about the outstanding bravery and sacrifice of every pilot who fought against the Death Star. The skill and nerve of the survivors are lauded, and then the medals come out, golden and heavy-looking, hanging on thick olive-colored ribbons.

Verlaine accepts hers first, bowing her head for the Princess to hang it around her neck, offering a smile and murmur of thanks in return. Then it's Wedge's turn. Even from the back of the crowd, Col can see the way his eyes shine wetly, the way his hands are clenched behind his back to hide their trembling. The Princess holds out the medal, and it takes Wedge a moment to respond, ducking low and accepting the reward wordlessly, face set and stoic.

When he straightens again, his posture has changed, as if the medal is much, much heavier than the materials it's made from. The Princess pats his arm before stepping back to her place. A few more words, how proud the Alliance is of its pilots, these two in particular, how proud they should all be of themselves and each other. Then it's over.

Col pushes his way through the crowd as they surge forward to offer their own congratulations. Most of them head for Verlaine. Wedge offers polite handshakes and quiet words to those who approach him, and they disperse quickly, leaving just Col.

“All right?” he asks, a bracing hand on Wedge's arm.

Wedge shows him a tiny, brave smile. “Hanging in there.”

Col gestures to the medal. “Looks good on you.”

Wedge's face drops into a frown. He curls his hand over the gold, covering as much of the shiny surface as he can as if that will make it go away. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“Should we get out of here?” Col proposes.

“Yeah.”

They maneuver through the milling crowd, Col still with a hold on the other's arm. Before they reach the door, though, a voice rings out.

“Flight Officer Takbright? A moment, please?”

Col looks over to see a tech flagging him down and groans inwardly.

“Go,” Wedge says, giving him a little push. “I'll meet you in your room, okay?”

“Okay.” Col pecks his cheek. “I'll only be a minute.”

 

It ends up being more like fifteen. The tech was only checking in with him about some repairs to his flight suit's life support system, but then she got chatty, and as much as Col wanted to get away, she was so genuine and enthusiastic, he just couldn't be rude and cut her off.

When he does make it back to his room, it's to find Wedge spread out on the bed, face hidden in Col's pillow.

“Hey,” Col says softly as he approaches, sitting down next to him.

Wedge rolls over onto his side and looks up at him. He's not crying, but he looks like he's not far from it either. “I'm am impostor, Col,” he says without preamble.

“Wedge...”

“Just listen to me, okay? Princess Leia and the commanders and everyone...they think I'm brave and talented and deserve to rewarded, but I was just lucky. Col...if they knew I was like this instead of out there celebrating, they probably wouldn't even let me fly.”

Col chews his lip for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Does he indulge Wedge, offer him the softness and comfort he wants? Or would tough love be better for him right now?

“Where's the medal?” he asks suddenly, noticing that Wedge isn't wearing it anymore.

“Put away. I don't want to see it.”

“Where?” Col insists.

Wedge eyes him. “The drawer.” He jerks his chin toward Col's dresser.

Col goes to pull it open, retrieving the item that was clearly hastily shoved inside. He brings it back to the bed, looking at it thoughtfully. He smooths fingers over the shiny metal, wiping away fingerprints Wedge had left earlier.

Then he looks up, meets the other man's eyes. “Tell me something, Wedge.”

Wedge is wary. “What?”

“Do you think you're not brave?”

“I ran away. I pulled out of the trench while Luke and Biggs were still there.”

“That's not what I asked. You flew against the _Death Star,_ Wedge. The most powerful weapon the galaxy has ever seen, a planet killer. And you went up against it in a tiny little fighter without even hesitating. You think that wasn't brave?”

“Well...”

“And talent?” Col pins him with a look. “You fly laps around me in the simulators and most of the rest of Red Squadron as well, you know that. Hell, you trained Luke on the X-wing yourself. Who's to say if he would have been able to do what he did without your influence?”

“Col-”

“I'm not finished,” he goes on, gaining momentum. “You _survived_ , Wedge. Thirty-two fighters went up against that thing, and three came back. Three. And you were one of them. That wasn't luck! You earned that! You fought and you did your job, and you helped Luke make it to the exhaust port, and you're just as responsible for saving all of us as he and Solo are.

I understand that you're hurting. You're grieving, and you feel guilty that you couldn't save them. We _all_ feel like that. And you can't just ignore it, I know that too, but you can't concentrate just on your pain, either. You have to look at the good, and you have to look forward.

Now, sit up.”

Wedge does, wordlessly, something in his wide brown eyes like fragile hope.

Col holds up the medal, lets it swing from the ribbon for a moment before draping it over Wedge's neck. The golden disc falls across his chest, and Col presses a hand flat over it, over Wedge's heart. “You earned this. Do you understand?”

Wedge stares at Col's hand for long, silent moments, the only sound in the room his ragged breathing. Then, slowly, his hand comes up to cover Col's, and he looks into his eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

“I care about you,” Col says simply, and it's so much easier than he would have expected, because it's true, and because Wedge needs to hear it. “I care about you, Wedge, and I'm tired of seeing you beat yourself up. I want you to see what I see in you.”

“What do you see?” Wedge asks breathlessly.

Col smiles, his free hand lifting to cup Wedge's cheek. “I see that brave, talented, amazing man you keep claiming isn't there. I see a man who's come through so much hardship and still perseveres, a man who's done great things and will do more.” He voice softens. “I see a man who proved me wrong when I insisted the best pilots were sitting out that day and who told me I'd be alone if I kept pushing everyone away. I see a man who didn't let me do that.”

“I keep thinking this is pity,” Wedge says shakily. “That someday you'll get tired of humoring me and tired of me crying all over you all the time and leave me behind.”

“If that were the case,” Cols tell him gently, “I would have done it that first morning after the battle when you refused to get out of bed.” He holds Wedge's face in both hands, cradles him like something precious, because he is. “I never expected to care about you like I do,” he admits. “When I took you to bed that first night, I was trying to distract you. I wanted to do something to make you feel better, and that was all I could think of. Now it's something else.”

“Something else?” Wedge repeats, that quiet hope flaring again.

Col nods, their foreheads brushing together. “I don't know what to call it. Just that I care about you, a lot. I want you to be better. I want you to be happy, and I want to be with you when you are.”

Wedge's eyes slip closed, a pair of tears sliding from beneath the lids, but Col knows they're not sad ones now. “I want that too,” Wedge says softly. “I care about you, too. And I – I'm so thankful. I didn't think... I wouldn't have expected anyone to want me, when I'm like this.”

“I just want _you_ , Wedge. Regardless of how you are.”

 


End file.
